12 Chinks and A Woman

     Glorie went over to the sideboard and opened a wooden biscuit chest. She came back with a small leather wallet. She threw it into his lap. “I took that,” she said defiantly.

     Fenner found a number of papers in the wallet. He lit a cigarette and went through them carefully. Glorie at first sat close to him, watching, then, when she saw how absorbed he was, she got up and went out on the piazza. She fidgeted around for nearly ten minutes, then she came back again. Fenner said, without looking up from his reading, “Get a meal together, baby; I'm going to have a late night.”

     She went out and left him. Later, when she came back, he was sitting where she had left him, smoking. The wallet and the papers weren't any longer in sight.

     “Well?” she said.

     Fenner looked at her. His eyes were hard. “Any of those guys know you've got this place?”

     She shook her head. “No one.”

     Fenner frowned. “You don't tell me that you put this joint together all on your own.”

     He wasn't sure whether her face had gone pale or whether it was a trick of the light. She said evenly, “I wanted somewhere to go when I was sick of all this. So I saved, bought the place, and no one knows about it.”

     Fenner grunted. “You know what's in that wallet?”

     “Well, I looked at it. It didn't mean anything to me.”

     “No? Well, it means a hell of a lot to Thayler. There are four receipts of money paid by Carlos to him. Two IOU's from Noolen for large sums, and particulars of five places where they land the Chinks.”

     Glorie shrugged. “I can't cash that at the bank,” she said indifferently.

     Fenner grinned. “Well, I can,” he said, getting to his feet. “Give me a big envelope, will you, baby?”

     She pointed to a little desk in the window recess. “Help yourself.”

     He went over and put the contents of the wallet in the envelope, scrawled a note and addressed the envelope to Miss Paula Dolan, Room 1156, Roosevelt Building, New York City.

     Glorie, who had been reading over his shoulder, said, “Who's the girl?” suspiciously.

     Fenner tapped the envelope with a long finger. “She's the dame who runs my office.

     “Why send it to her?”

     “Listen, baby, I'm playing this my way. If I liked I could turn this over to Hosskiss, the Federal man, and get him to crack down on those two guys. It would be enough for him to start an investigation. But Carlos has been tough with me, so I'm goin' to be tough with him. Maybe he'll get me before I get him, in that case the stuff gets turned over to the cops after all. Get it?”

     Glorie shrugged. “Men are either chasing women or getting themselves into a jam because of their pride,” she said. “I love a guy who takes on a mob single-handed to even things up. It's like the movies.”

     Fenner stood up. “Yeah?” he said. “Who said single-handed?” He went out on to the piazza. “I'm going to put this in the mail. I'll be right back, and then we can feed.”

     On his way back from mailing the letter he passed a telegraph office. He paused, thought, and then went in. He wrote a message out and took it to the desk.

     The clerk checked the message and looked at Fenner hard. The message ran:

      

     Dolan. Room 1156 Roosevelt Building, New York City.

Report progress by Grossett of Daley murder. Rush. D.F.

      

     Fenner paid, nodded and went out again. He walked fast back to the bungalow. Glorie was waiting for him with cocktails.

     Fenner said, “I'm in a hurry. Let's eat and drink at the same time.” Glorie rang the bell.

     “Where are you going?” she asked.

     Fenner smiled. “I'm going to see your husband,” he said gently. “It's time he forgot his shyness and started to play ball.”

     Glorie shrugged. “A guy like that won't help you much,” she said.

     While they ate, Fenner kept silent. After the meal he stood up. “Listen, baby, this is serious. Until these guys have been washed up you've got to stay here. On no account must you leave this joint. You know too much and you've put Thayler in a spot. Any one of the mob would slit your throat if they saw you. So stay put.”

     Glorie was inclined to argue, but Fenner stopped her. “Be your age,” he said patiently. “It won't take long, and it'll save you for some other poor sap.”

     Glorie said, “Oh, well,” and went over to the divan. Fenner walked out into the kitchen.

     Bugsey had just finished supper and was making eyes at the Spanish woman, who ignored him. Fenner said, “I'm going out. Maybe I'll be back tonight, maybe I won't.”

     Bugsey lumbered to his feet. “Shall I bring a rod?” he said.

     Fenner shook his head. “You stay here,” he said. “Your job is to protect Miss Leadler. You keep awake and watch out. Someone might try and rub her out.”

     Bugsey said, “Aw, boss, for God's sake—”

     Fenner said impatiently, “You stay here.”

     Bugsey shuffled his feet. “That dame don't want protectin'. I'm the guy who wants protectin'.”

     “What are you yapping about? You always wanted a flock of dames. She's as good as twenty dames, isn't she?” Fenner asked him, and before he could reply he left.